But now all was black, sand, alkali, gypsum-beds, for the night had fallen.
In their wide detour they had endeavored to escape detection from the stage-station, but sheltered by no appreciable inequalities of land, and denied the refuge that even a small grove might have furnished, they had, as it were, been held up to view on the prairie; and though so far away, their horses had been as distinctly outlined as two ants scurrying across a white page.
Wilfred reflected. "If Kimball, when he came out of that restaurant, happened to look in this direction, he must have seen us; and the first inquiry at the barn would inform him who're on the horses.' But he said nothing until, from the rear, came the sound long-dreaded, telling, though far away, of bounding horses and groaning wheels.
"Lahoma!"
"Yes—I hear them."
"My horse is about used up. We'll have to side-trail, or they'll ride us down."
"I could go on," Lahoma answered, as she drew bard on the bit, "but I wouldn't like to leave you here by yourself."
"You couldn't travel that distance by yourself. And good as your horse is, it wouldn't last. But thank you for thinking of me," he added, smiling in the darkness, as he dismounted. "Let me lead your horse as well as my own."
"No," said Lahoma, "if leading is to be done, I'll do my part." She leaped lightly to the ground and seized her bridle. Side by side they slowly ventured from the trail into the invisible country on the left. They found themselves treading short dead mesquit that did not greatly obstruct their progress.
"Keep going," Wilfred said, when she paused for breath. "It wouldn't do for our horses to whinny, for those fellows would hear them if it was thundering. Give me your hand."